


to be loved, and to be in love

by watchtheleaves



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (romeo smalls and crutchie too), Autistic Albert DaSilva, Coming of Age, M/M, Non-Binary Albert DaSilva, Race has ADHD, TW: getting hit by a car ?, TW: mentions of child abuse and neglect, again never graphic just mentioned, and jack’s brother, as always, i don’t... know why, i love them, its really really soft, not graphic in the slightest, race is anemic, race is medda’s son, race’s pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchtheleaves/pseuds/watchtheleaves
Summary: race let albert go one time. he’s the kind of guy to never make the same mistake twice.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Racetrack Higgins, Mentioned Crutchie/Finch (Newsies), Mentioned David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Past Albert DaSilva/Finch (Newsies)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	to be loved, and to be in love

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOO
> 
> this fic is... my baby. my very good friend alaska (hi als!) knows how long i’ve been working on it and it’s finally done! i love it. i hope you guys do too.
> 
> TWS: there are mentions of a car accident, hospitals, a bruise, child abuse and neglect. none of these are graphic or explicit, but they’re mentioned.
> 
> this is soft and i love them and . yeah

There was something seriously wrong with the people who built airports. Race had always thought it, how the proportions were all wrong, and how every single airport in the world just had that _off_ sentiment attached to its walls.

It wasn’t necessarily that airports meant a bad thing. In fact, they usually didn’t. Race had been to one a couple of times in his life and only one of those visits was particularly sad—the others were exciting. Intriguing. Going to the airport involved either going somewhere else, somewhere new, somewhere refreshing, or it meant returning. Being back home with both feet on the ground after days or weeks of not sleeping in his beloved bed, with his beloved cat, with his beloved awful neighbors.

Only one time that rule was broken. Just the one.

Attached to the hip. Inseparable. One and the same. Antonio Higgins and Albert DaSilva were so close it was concerning. They were so close-knit that memories of their early years were mixed up at some points, and people didn’t really know which of their past shenanigans were Albert or Race’s doing. What was so strange is that even they forgot at times—“ _remember that time you put toothpaste on your pancakes?_ ” “ _Albert, that was you_ ”—, and neither of them had any problem with that.

In fact, the first time Race didn’t have his best friend to run to after whatever occasion or opportunity life threw in his direction wasn’t until after he waved them goodbye and saw them disappear through the gates.

That damn airport.

It’s not like Albert was dead. God knows they were still getting on Race’s nerves every other afternoon during their long phone calls or video chats or late at night when neither of them could sleep. But having to adapt to the time difference between Geneva and New York was a pain, and texting Albert at midnight for them to get it at six in the morning was just inconvenient.

The first months were the hardest. They didn’t talk for weeks on end simply because they didn’t find any time to do so—by the time Albert’s classes ended, Race’s day was barely starting, and by the time Race was forcing himself to sleep, Albert was getting up in the morning.

It took Albert snapping for them to get their problems in line and make a schedule. And so they did, because Race didn’t have the heart to even imagine how lonely Switzerland got for Albert, taking a career they hated in a completely foreign language. He was not leaving his best friend uncommunicated and over five thousand miles away if he could prevent it.

(He couldn’t prevent it. That’s why Albert was in Switzerland.)

The schedule worked because they made it work. They _facetimed_ , _zoomed_ , or _skyped_ every other weekday and their calls never went under five hours. If they had to do homework while on call, they did. If they had to cook or clean, they did. The company made it bearable on both ends and by the time they said goodbye, it wasn’t so hard for Race to face the night by himself.

He wasn’t the victim in that situation, and he knew that very well. It was the bed in the next room that was empty, not his. His mother would never have forced him into a career. He didn’t have a father, but he had a feeling no parental figure in his life would shove him inside an airplane and send him away.

 _For their own good_ , or whatever bullshit. That family never cared for Albert, never looked after them like they should’ve. Race hated them wholeheartedly.

7 PM, read his phone. That was an hour after midnight in Geneva.

Race remembered being twelve years old so strongly it felt made up. Anything that involved Albert usually felt that way. They were simply too good to be true.

God, the cheesiness of it all. Race hated himself.

He remembered being twelve years and one month old, with his back against the floor which also stood for rooftop and his eyes on the sky. At twelve, his dreams were still a catapulting sequence. He was going to be an astronaut, a painter, a dancer and a teacher all rolled into one. And he explained that with grand hand gestures and excited squeaks and happy sighs.

His head was on someone’s lap. Someone’s hand was on his hair. Albert had always had quite the fascination for his curls.

Race cried a lot more when he was little. He knew Albert understood, although they never cried much themself. It was easy for Race to be up with the clouds narrating something, then remember something else and cry, then go back up.

“What’s the matter, Tones?” Albert had asked like they’d ask every single time. Their voice was filled with worry, concern, but it was warm. Albert’s voice did wonders to Race’s system. “Scared?”

He nodded, eyes watery all of a sudden. His hands found the end of his hoodie and he started zipping and unzipping it as he sighed.

“There’s so much I wanna do,” he said. “The world is so big an’ I’m so small.”

“You’re not small.”

Race rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I am. Everyone is—the world has a lotta people. How am I gonna make a difference?”

Albert’s response had been as fast and certain as always. They were weirdly quick and wise for a kid their age, but then again, every kid is exceptional. Grown-ups just don’t care enough to watch.

“Because you’re you,” they had said rather matter-of-factly. Race frowned. “No one else gets to be you.”

“What about clones?”

There had been a second of thought, there, but Albert shook their head almost right after. “Not even a clone—I don’t think that’s how they work, anyway.”

Race sat up and turned to look at Albert’s eyes. They didn’t move.

“But if I’m me—” He said. “And everyone is that, uh—”

“Unique?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Then what chance do I got?”

He remembered one or two things from that year. He remembered he’d been friends with Albert for three years, by that time. He remembered he loved their red hair as much as they loved his curls. He remembered he struggled and accidentally mixed Italian and English, and his accent was still thick and forced and Albert smiled every time. He remembered Albert’s smile.

“You got the same chance everyone else has. Like, we’re all just as small, so you have as good a chance as the next guy to do something cool, right?”

It made sense. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Albert smiled. “So, c’mon. Tell me about that star you like so much.”

Race shook his head. It was starting to get cold and too strangely lonely for an airport.

He thought about the weather, almost making small talk with himself. His hands were bouncing and so were his feet. He had checked—under forty degrees by the time Albert boarded. They were in for one hell of a jetlag episode, too, but Race could only think of the positive.

Albert was the positive.

7:25 PM. Time was still going, which was always a relief. The airport was so quiet Race thought he was stuck in time. There were a number of moments in his life where he felt that way—namely, his fourteenth birthday party.

His memory was impeccable, mind you, but even he struggled to pinpoint the moment when Albert stopped enjoying themself at the party and started working themself up that evening. Race had had a pretty neat day at the bowling alley with his friends, but he wasn’t one to get too caught up in his own happiness to ignore completely something as important to him as it was whenever Albert was feeling down.

“I don’t know,” they had said, eyes focused on the pavement they were kicking down the street. Race’s eyes were on them, questioning. “Jus’ weird.”

Race had nudged them with a smirk. “Feel butterflies, all that?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

He laughed. “You’ve got a crush, Albie?”

The silence was enough of an answer. Something burned and jumped and maybe even left Race’s chest as he nodded along to Albert’s silent avowal. He held his breath as their steps grew slower until they stopped completely and looked up to meet Race with scared eyes.

What they said both met and crushed Race’s expectations at once.

“I like Finch,” they breathed out, eyes closed tightly, hands turned fists. “I think—I’m pretty sure I like him, I’m not sure because I don’t know if this has ever happened to me before but I’m, like, ninety-percent sure I like him.”

It wasn’t that Albert liked a boy—of course not, god. Race was a Larkin in every way that counted. He’d been raised right.

Still, something sat in the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake it off, couldn’t name it, couldn’t decipher it, or put it to sleep. It was there, bugging, gnawing.

He slung an arm around Albert’s shoulders and ruffled their hair. “That’s so cool, Al! D’ya think he likes you back?”

“No,” Albert said. “I don’t think so.”

Race had frowned and scrunched up his nose at that. “That’s just dumb. Who wouldn’t like you?”

He laughed sadly as the question floated in the damp cold air and when he leaned back in his seat in the waiting area to rub his eyes, the awful squeak it made still wasn’t enough to distract him from the words. _Who wouldn’t like you, Albert?_

Finch did like Albert. Back then, at least. Race couldn’t really imagine himself being surprised—he felt happy, even, when he got to ignore the _feeling_ for long enough.

It was a simple high school fling. Race had had many of his own, and so had many of his friends. It felt different when it was Albert, though, than when it was Jack or Romeo. It felt strange. Wrong, in a way. But they were happy, at the time, and Race would follow Albert anywhere no matter what—including to their own places of happiness.

Now, Finch was happily married to Race’s little brother, which was a little bit hilarious. He thought there wasn’t a couple as meant to be as Charlie and him. Albert was Finch’s best man, even.

Race could never forget how Albert looked in that suit, no matter how hard he’d tried.

7:49 PM.

If Race’s despicable place on earth was that airport where he stood, Albert’s was the hospital—any hospital. It was maybe more justifiable than Race’s hatred for his spot, but the irrational fear and resentment Albert kept for hospitals was big enough to have them sew up their own wounds for years to avoid stepping foot inside that place.

Their mother had almost died there. Their father had sent them there after one particularly rough afternoon. The place radiated terror and everything bad.

It didn’t, however, stop them when Race was the one injured. Nothing seemed to stop Albert that one time.

The accident had been minor in every way—Race remembered what the nurse had said.

He didn’t see the car coming. Race was as bad a pedestrian as he was behind the wheel. He was a danger to society, really, and everyone close to him knew it very well. Albert themself had called him ‘an accident waiting to happen’ on more than one occasion.

Albert was usually right about all things Race, he would come to learn.

He was sixteen, and the world was much more delightful and distracting back in the day. Race found everything about the city captivating, and the years of living there didn’t make it less boring but instead more mysterious. They added to its history. There was nothing Race didn’t want to see, nothing Race didn’t want to know or learn. He walked around with his head high and alert for everything that went down around him.

This time, his head was just too high.

With the car already going to a stop at the moment of the impact, Race only flew maybe three feet down the street and landed on his back, luckily. It was mostly in the fact that his already anemic system didn’t handle sudden impacting forces very well, and so he was sent unconscious.

Personally, Race had found it hilarious—that, and the fact that the hospital made delicious jello.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” a breath.

The fun ran out when he spotted Albert looking at him, standing by the doorframe. They looked untidy, like they had been pulled out of bed—no, class. Albert had tutoring on Saturdays.

“Hey, Al,” Race smiled charmingly. His voice sounded so weak he flinched at it.

“What am I gonna do with you, Tonio?” Albert ran a hand through their hair, breathing their pieces back together before finally stepping inside the room. They eyed around carefully.

Race knew what was in their mind. It was weird, being just a visitor, for once.

“Keep me in a box,” he nodded, moving to leave Albert room in the already messy hospital bed. “Less chance of harm.”

Albert let out a breathy laugh and Race felt relieved to hear it.

The day had been busy enough—his mother had refused to leave for long hours on end, until facing the reality that three teenagers waited at home, anxious for news about his brother. The oldest one would stay, because Jack would never leave Race. When Medda finally left, Race talked Jack into at least calling Davey to keep him company, and upon his arrival, they had gone out to find the hospital’s cafeteria.

It’s not that he particularly wanted to be alone, but being the main focus of everyone’s worry wasn’t his favorite activity. Albert, however, could stay. They always could.

“What’s on your mind?” Race pried.

“Your idiot ass,” said Albert right back. A half-calm smile decorated their face as they shuffled through the DVD collection on the table by the bed. “And _Wall-E_ , I’m thinking.”

Unable to help himself, Race smiled again. He was arguably the most content resident at that hospital, right then.

“Seems only fair.”

Neither addressed the matter at hand—the long and heavy blue-and-purple bruise on Race’s side, and how it made Albert’s chest feel dense.

As the movie started playing with that music Race had just adored since he was a little boy, he watched Albert crawl up the bed and curl onto his side carefully, gently, almost as if trying to go unnoticed.

Race put his unharmed arm around them and took a deep breath. He wasn’t particularly thinking about the movie.

At one point, he was sure Jack had seen them through the window and decided not to intrude—that, or he was having the longest lunch break.

“Y’know,” Race said. “It’s been a while since our last movie night. This is kinda nice.”

Albert scoffed. “You don’t have to get hit by a car for me to watch a movie with you, Tone.”

He smiled. Albert chewed on some words until Race paused the movie to look down at them.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Al.”

“Nothing,” their voice was strong, pained. They sighed and closed their eyes. They reached for Race’s hand and took the remote from him to press play.

A few moments of buzzing silence passed.

In reality, Race didn’t know what to expect when Albert felt like that—closed in, trapped into themself. Sometimes, they would run, and Race would have to wait for them to want to come back to him. Other times, they would talk.

Those times were imprinted in his mind. Each and every single word.

“It’s not fair,” Albert muttered, almost to themself. Race tilted his head, but Albert’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. “That you get yourself in these—these things.”

“Al, I’m—”

“No, let me talk,” they stopped him. Race nodded. “You’re—I know you’re fine, okay? I know. You’re here, you’re safe, and I’m here with you, but—”

Race almost didn’t want to hear the rest.

Finally, Albert turned away from the movie and looked at him. Their eyes were shimmering.

“You’re all I’ve ever known, okay? You’re the one constant. I can’t lose you too.”

The room was silent with the exception of quiet dialogue coming from the screen. The lights were out and the moon was now shining through the blinds.

With his heart breaking inside his chest, Race nodded and smiled a watery smile.

“You’re not gonna lose me, Albie. You’re all I’ve ever known, too.”

His fist almost slammed against the metal chair next to his, but it didn’t. The noise would’ve startled a lonely pigeon wandering about, and Race didn’t want to shoo his only companion away.

A landing announcement, then another. His leg bounced and made a beating sound much like his heart on his ears.

It was true. For all his life, it had always been like that—Race and Albert, Albert and Race. Them, and then the rest of the world. He hadn’t known anything else and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Anxiety crept up his chest. He really, really didn’t want to know life without Albert.

8:21 PM. 8:22 PM. 8:23 PM.

Decidedly putting his mind to work on something else as the minutes poured and the flight he’d been expecting got closer and closer to landing, Race sighed with his head tilted back.

He was hungry. He’d thought about eating something right then and there, but he saved his craving for a McDonald’s dinner later in the night—hopefully, with company.

The airport hadn’t changed much through the years, and that was considering that Race hadn’t been there in three years.

Three years. He laughed a little at it, at times, because it was true—he had been so young, too young to understand that life wasn’t truly against him, no matter how much it really seemed to be. Race had been eighteen, as had been Albert. Freshly graduated from high school, ready to face the future together.

When Albert first told Race the news, it was late at night and his half-asleep self was so distraught over what clearly was Albert holding back tears over the phone that he didn’t even come to terms with what was happening.

It hit him fifteen minutes after hanging up, and he cried. He was always an emotional kid, after all.

Regarding all the things Race could say about Mr. DaSilva after having known the man for most of his life, it was very much a red flag that he couldn’t point out a single positive. The man was cold and harsh and Albert stopped trying to convince themself that he didn’t hate them—his own child—at age fourteen. Race had to watch his best friend lower their head and all-in-all surrender to the life of an unloved kid, and although he had done his absolute best to make sure Albert could find reassurance and love someplace else, he knew the absence of their parents would always follow them.

Albert was the strongest person Race knew.

They were good and obedient—they found joy in small acts of rebellion, such as hiding a pride flag in the closet or wearing nail polish on nights where they were sleeping over at the Larkin’s. They came out through their window when dinner was long over and sneaked Race in the same way, and they were content.

Race was always a smart kid, and he was smart enough to know that his friend wasn’t living—they were surviving.

In a long line of neglect and abuse, Albert found it hard to break free their entire life, not because they didn’t want to but because they didn’t believe it was possible. It was their father’s call whether a situation was black or white, and if he said Albert was to lower their head and do something, so they did.

It wasn’t entirely surprising when they got sent to Switzerland. Race had never seen an Albert so hopeless until the day he waved them goodbye.

The airport had been chilly and crowded that early autumn morning.

The program wasn’t but four years and a degree—a career Albert didn’t want, had never wanted, would never want. It was merit to have gotten in, even more considering Albert hadn’t signed up willingly.

They looked small in the big airport. Their parents had waved them off at the doors and didn’t care to wait until the plane even arrived, which said enough. Maybe, Albert could have run away, but they didn’t. They wouldn’t have.

Race and Albert had their quietest breakfast ever by a bagel stand. It was silent among the two until Albert put both palms down on the table and looked up.

“This can’t happen to us,” they said. Race looked up to find desperation.

“What can’t happen to us?”

“This,” they motioned with both hands, one still holding the bagel. “Not talking. If we—If I go and—”

Something ached inside of Race. He extended himself to put a hand over Albert’s.

“It won’t,” he said. “It can’t. It’s always gonna be us, Albie.”

They almost didn’t believe him, except for that part of them that always followed Race’s words—even the craziest and most senseless.

Albert nodded with a tight smile.

“Race and Albert, right?”

“Race and Albert. Always.”

The airport had the worst selection of ambient music and the air felt foggy. It was still two and a half hours until departure, so Race stood up and held out a hand to be followed.

Albert and Race had mastered perfect aim throughout the years. Throwing rocks at unnamed objects was one of their favorite pastimes.

“If I hit that branch,” Race said, weighing the rocks in his good hand. “You buy me McDonald’s when you get back.”

The branch was hit and three birds were startled away. Albert feigned an annoyed groan.

“Okay,” they said. “If I hit that antenna, you have to send me laundry money. For three months.”

Race laughed loudly, and the goal was met.

Five more promises were made in a ping-pong manner. It was twenty minutes until departure and Race’s last good rock when something shifted—realization.

Albert must have felt it, too, in the way they shoved their hands inside their pockets and looked down.

A group of businessmen with neat hats and tidy suits walked by. Race perked up.

“If I hit that guy’s hat,” he breathed, glanced quickly at Albert, then turned back. “You don’t go.”

He felt Albert’s eyes on him, but no words of denial came. The rock was thrown and flew an uninterrupted trajectory—hitting the man’s forehead, instead of the hat.

As the man turned around, upset, the pair startled and ran back inside the airport.

Not many words were said as Albert walked the final distance to the gates.

They both felt like they were underplaying it—families surrounded them, crying and hugging and kissing and holding and waving.

 _No tears_ , Race had promised.

“Hey, Al?” He raised his voice above the crowd noise and Albert turned around.

It would’ve been selfish to stop them. It would’ve been selfish to beg, to cry, to try. So he didn’t.

Race walked the distance and threw two arms around Albert, burying his face in that spot between their shoulder and their neck that seemed to have his name written.

He pulled them closer when he felt like he was about to break, and he tried hard to ignore the fact that Albert was shaking.

It wasn’t until Albert pulled away that last time that Race realized he never wanted to let go.

The announcement of the numbers Race had memorized made him snap back to reality almost painfully, and he stood up faster than humanly recommended.

8:37 PM.

They looked like they had just been pulled from their sleep—that was the first thing Race registered of Albert.

He didn’t have much more time to observe and annotate, because as soon as Albert’s eyes found his amidst the ocean of faces, both sets of feet were moving forward until they clashed.

Since Albert left, August 3rd of 2017, it had been exactly 895 days. Race carried the ghost of their hug for eight hundred and ninety-five days.

He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t have any first words that were worthy of being just that.

Albert’s grip around him tightened as they let go of their bags. They sighed as if they had been holding their breath for the length of their flight.

They broke off only enough to look at each other up and down. Albert giggled.

“You’re so short,” they said.

Race gaped, unbelievably in love. Then, he punched their shoulder.

“How was the flight? Hungry?”

He wasn’t saying the words. His brain fired red flags— _do it now_ , _they’re here_ , _don’t let them slip away again_. But he wasn’t saying the words.

Albert kneeled to grab all their bags and nodded.

“You have no idea,” they said. “I’m praying that my folks left me something—they must be asleep already, so I’m gonna have to raid the fridge.”

Not entirely understanding, Race tilted his head.

“Your folks?”

“Well, yeah. I still have my key, so now that I’m going home—”

Race stopped walking. Albert frowned.

“What?”

“What do you mean, you’re going home?”

Albert gulped. Race knew they had been hoping to get away with it easily. As if they didn’t know Race already.

“Tony, there’s—They’re my family, I haven’t seen them in three years. I know they may be a little upset that I dropped out, but...”

The lack of self-conviction in Albert’s voice made Race’s chest boil up to the end of his throat. They didn’t want to go, and he knew that.

He wasn’t letting them. Not this time.

“You don’t have to go.”

“What—”

“Albert, we’re not kids anymore. We’re twenty-one. You don’t have to to to your parents’ anymore,” Race breathed. He tried to convey anything other than rawness into his voice, because he was as hopeful as he was upset. “Don’t go home—Come home. To my place. You already have a bed and, uh, you’ll have food and a room and a—”

Race’s hand, previously holding Albert’s wrist, was dropped.

“Why do you hate my parents so much?”

“Because they took you away from me!” He exclaimed, taking a step forward. Through Albert’s face flashed confusion before realization.

And, really, maybe he shouldn’t have. But there was a limit to the number of times he was willing to let love go.

“They’re—These were supposed to be our years. Not years of us texting when we could, Albie. _Our_ years. Together After high school, the world was supposed to be ours.”

Feeling heavy on his knees, Race stumbled back a few inches, looking down.

“You promised me that,” he continued. “When we were younger. And they—They took that away from you. And they took you from me. And I’ve been sitting here—in this fucking haunted airport—trying to think of a time where I didn’t love you enough to let you go.”

Albert’s silence made Race feel lightheaded and he glanced at the exit in case he needed it.

“But I don’t,” he breathed. “I don’t love you enough to let you go. I love you enough to beg you to stay.”

Another flight landed. They probably should have moved, made way for newcomers. They didn’t.

With one glance Albert caught the picture of Race. He was taller, if possible, although neither of them had grown remarkably since saying goodbye at eighteen. His new haircut—with his curls mostly in the top of his head and not falling around everywhere—made him look more adult, but he still had to him his innocent _Race_ energy that Albert willed to never fade.

There were two dark circles, one under each eye. Race hadn’t slept much the previous days. His brows were knitted together in desperation and his eyes were welling in unreleased tears.

After a moment or two of swimming in the depths of silence and observation, Race’s shoulders went down in surrender and he went to grab one of Albert’s bags.

“Let me drive you, at least,” he muttered.

When he resurfaced with a red carry-on firm in his too-tight grip, Albert’s face was still blank as their mind raced faster.

Race thought they were about to say something—how he shouldn’t talk about their family like that, how he had been foolish to even think of Albert that way. He held his breath and tried hard to look away before the hit came.

9:01 PM.

Albert kissed Race.

It wasn’t rushed like Race had feared it would be if he gave in to his impulses to make the first move. It was calculated and right what he needed, just like Albert. It was the passion that five thousand miles couldn’t kill, poured into one kiss.

Suddenly, the airport didn’t feel that cold.

When they pulled away, Race felt weak and younger and completely dumbfounded. He rested his forehead against Albert’s and found himself smiling in mirror to the person before him.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Albert replied, almost laughing.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Race said. “Three years, actually.”

Albert perked an eyebrow. “Only three years?”

Race laughed before pulling back in. This time, he made sure to make the kiss everything he had ever hoped for, which was easy. Albert was already everything Race had hoped for.

The kiss was broken by Albert laughing and Race joining in. Finally looking around, he spotted a few families and lonely hearts sitting and walking. He wondered if they had been there all along, and he just hadn’t been able to see them.

Feeling his soul return to his body—and, with it, hunger and exhaustion—Race ran a hand gently through Albert’s hair and cupped their cheek.

“What?”

“Your hair’s too long,” he said. Albert stuck their tongue out, pushing him softly. “And I want McDonald’s.”

The smile that followed made Race feel fuzzy. He knew what it meant—that things hadn’t changed. That they were still them. Older, wiser, but they would always be Race and Albert.

“God, me too,” Albert said, going to grab one of their bags with one hand and intertwine Race’s fingers with his with the other. “Can we order in?”

“ _Wall-E_?”

“ _Big Hero 6_ ,” they smiled.

“Of course,” Race nodded.

As they started making their way back, he replaced his hand holding Albert’s for an arm around their shoulders. He brought them closer as they walked to the car and planted a kiss to their temple.

He thought he had felt Albert’s breath hitching, but he had probably imagined it.

As they shoved the bags in the car, Albert looked at him again and smiled. They seemed to like doing that—just looking at Race and smiling.

“Tony, this car smells like fries.”

He shrugged. “Breakfast.”

Albert laughed with their head thrown back and their eyes closed. “God, I love you,” they breathed.

Race looked at them with one hand on the wheel and felt his body set in flames.

“I love you too,” he said, smiling.

An old fry landed on his hair a few moments later and he glared at Albert, who was now looking out the window at New York City in the nighttime.

They were beautiful, and so was the city. And it was theirs, finally. A wave of excitement ran through Race’s spine, like breathing underwater.

There hadn’t been a moment in Race’s life where he didn’t love Albert. He loved them when they were young and scared of the world—loved them when they were facing changes, shoulder to shoulder—loved them when life took a beat at them—loved them enough to say goodbye.

Race loved Albert enough to never see them again and still feel it. And he was lucky enough to always come back to them—no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> well!
> 
> this fic was inspired by 18, by one direction. kind of. i just love it.
> 
> i’m on twitter as @enbyshawn (i moved accs!!) and i aaaalways read the comments on my fics, they make my day. feel welcome to leave one!
> 
> stay hydrated, stay safe <3


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